Master and Servant
by skiesfallithurts
Summary: The late night briefing at the Attorney General's office takes an unexpected turn.


_Domination's the name of the game_

 _In bed or in life_

 _They're both just the same_

 _Except in one you're fulfilled_

 _At the end of the day_

Depeche Mode — Master and Servant

"Gone?! How? What the fuck, Ressler?!"

Nikki Bones, the Deputy Attorney General, was infuriated.

The elections were in two weeks and a half, and her key witness was missing!

She was torn by everyone, like a fucking sex doll.

First, it was the Attorney General, an old prick. He selfishly believed he could take an advantage of his deputy because she wasn't a man.

Then—the FBI's Assistant Director and his countless minions.

Finally, even journo cunts dared to bark at her. Last time they weren't so vocal, taking kickbacks for puff pieces to face-lift the Washington's law enforcement image.

Nikki wearily sighed, leaning against a massive desk. She casually adjusted her skirt with a smooth motion, though the cloth hadn't even gone up that far.

A potpourri of case files was arranged into perfectly neat stacks on her desk.

' _ **Cold Cases', 'Wiretap Affadavits', 'Review ASAP'.**_

There was even one folder stamped ' _ **Top Secret'.**_ Now they all seemed cragged, absorbing their mistress's fury.

Her body, exhausted by today's marathon from courts to judges' chambers, wanted nothing more but blissfully soak in the bathtub. The timing was just right—the sun was long gone and the clock's hand froze at '18:00'.

Donald Ressler, the FBI Special Agent, didn't rush to answer. His frown deepened into a scowl. Not giving a word, he made himself comfortable in the armchair.

If Nikki took the anger management class, she would eat the coach. So for your own safety, it was better to keep your mouth shut.

"Valdez has a homie he's been tight with." Nikki leaned over to get the file. "The usual—crank, dope, illegal arms." She put the brown folder back. "He might be useful," her voice was well-pitched, and had a slight trace of the arrogant vibe to it.

Ressler unconsciously stroked his strawberry blond hair.

It was easy-peasy when you say it. The son-of-a-bitch was worse that Thelma and Louise.

"Give us a few days, we'll bring him in." Ressler was struggling not to yawn like a schoolboy at the boring lesson.

He had to get some sleep tonight. To try, at least.

" _Tomorrow,_ Agent Ressler," Nikki snapped, her fingers clawing into the light-brown polished surface.

Donald glanced at her, stifling a loud groan.

 _Fuck. The night shift. Again._ Wasting another twenty-four hours, hoping the thug would get his doped ass home.

 _Narcos_ should have taken this case. But no, it had been shoved into the FBI's throat like a motherfucking gag. The shit didn't seem complicated at first sight: a random passer-by caught a stray bullet. But when the Bureau ID'd him, the real headache showed up.

An unlucky fella was a diplomat of the closest country-ally to the US.

The timing was the worst of the worst. And the FBI, the AG office, and all the king's men had to deal with it asap.

At this very moment Nikki, absolutely terrifying in her anger, gave Ressler chills.

For a moment it seemed that her braid, a creepy lookalike to a serpent's head, would sink its teeth right into his...

Donald mentally shut his eyes.

 _Enough with watching trash at night._

Nikki was almost the same age with him. Maybe, a bit older. As a Deputy Attorney General she had gotten herself a reputation of sorts. Her stare of steel made your guts shrink into a sticky knot of iciness.

"Okay, got it," Donald casually clipped.

Ressler hoped they were done for the day. He still had to grab a change of clothes.

"Not 'okay', but 'I'll do my best, Nikki'."

 _Damn these narrow-minded bullheads!_

All the bumbling agents looked the same: a black suit, white shirt, fancy watch, holster, and a badge. No doubt, they even styled their hair with the same freaking hair gel.

Nikki had a clear vision of her objective—throw another scumbag to rot in jail and close the case.

The feds had _one job._

To get her an unquestionably solid proof and a criminal to prove guilty.

But the idiots would always suck along the way, so Nikki took the rap for their constant fuck-ups.

 _"Remember, one way or another others will ride your back. Be better than that. Give them a hard time they deserve."_

Her grandma, Tessa Bones, was used to say that all the time.

Tessa was raised in Alaska. The harsh climate and physical labor had forged the girl's unwavering will. Soon enough Tessa had learned to stand her ground. And she had passed it to Nikki.

Nikki proved to be a great learner, because in no time half of the Washington's G-men gave her a nickname:

 _'The Batshit Bitch'._

But Nikki didn't give a lick about it.

Donald almost rolled his eyes. When something went sideways all these mouthpieces would always rant and steam. He had been with the Bureau long enough to claim that.

He couldn't deny this mess didn't bother him too. _It fucking did._ And it had been his headache for the past few weeks.

Just yesterday Valdez had made a deal. And then, out of sudden, the next day he went dark like a fucking radio. He even knocked three WITSEC marshals out on his way.

Donald's head was buzzing with thoughts.

 _Something's off. What if Valdez wasn't alone? What if he didn't actually go willingly? What if someone from his old gang took him out?.. It made sense—he rat on his own homies. And made a good deal. Everybody won. Well, up to this moment. Or maybe, the dick had cold feet and that's it._

"...the most incompetent..."

Nikki's agitated voice was drilling into his brain. She went on and on. On and on.

Donald didn't really want to listen. Anyway, he kept a good poker face, and so far it was working.

Meanwhile, Nikki kept ranting. Over and over. Like a broken record. The more she did, the more Ressler was struggling not to snap back at her.

It felt like a bomb was ticking somewhere in his brain. He could almost see the stopwatch approaching the last seconds.

Donald took a deep breath, and tried to follow the conversation.

Or, rather, Nikki's fuming.

She was scolding him like he was a helpless kitten, leaving a landmine on his mistress shiny floor. If Nikki could, she would rub his face into that. He had no doubts she actually could.

 _Well, fuck it all._

It wasn't the first time someone told him off for doing his job.

"You don't understand how high the stakes are," Nikki's voice oozed with iced fury. Her hazel eyes darkened into a lifeless void, like someone cut the lights to them.

 _How fucking dare you?!_

Ressler jumped up from his armchair, barely holding himself together.

"I'm not your punching bag, Bones!"

He drew closer to her. There was hardly an inch left between them.

A curious observation flashed at the edge of Donald's mind. Unlike others Nikki didn't avert her eyes. Quite the opposite. She gave him back the most loathsome look he had ever gotten. With interest.

Nikki fixed her eyes on Ressler, hanging onto him like he was a prey to wolf. The rich green of his eyes jogged her memory. This morning she left her cactus plant at home unwatered...

 _Well, look at this._ The Suit could use a nozzle to cool himself off. Swollen like a porcupine, ready to throw his spines. Eyes squinted. Lips pursed tight. And the cheekbones could cut a deep wound on you.

He would get over it. He was a big boy, after all.

If she had gotten a cent each time her words hurt the men's ego, she would have been a millionaire.

Nikki shrugged. She tried to retreat, clicking her heels, but accidentally brushed the file with her hip. The folder fell off the desk, exposing a clutter of subpoenas, motions, search warrants, and god knows what else.

Cursing, Bones bent down, but Ressler beat her to it. The distance grew short between them in a few seconds.

At the very moment when they simultaneously reached to pick up the file, Ressler caught a delicate trace of mint and vanilla in the air. Sweet, yet refreshing.

 _How would it feel on her skin?.._

 _'Too many romcoms lately?'_

His inner voice was asked to travel into a bunch of unpleasant places.

Arranging the scattered 'justice salad', Ressler put it back together in the file. He was almost ready to rise up, as he cast his glance at Nikki.

She towered over him, drumming her fingers on the desk. Was it the play of light, or was it his mind's trick, but right now Donald felt himself the tiniest gray of sand at the bottom of the ocean.

He hurried to give up the thought. Yet his brain, worn-out from the never-ending day, concluded differently.

Nikki was almost the same height as him. For an odd reason, Donald decided to focus not at giving back the file. Rather, he lagged on Nikki's dark gray pencil skirt. It seductively revealed her toned legs in sheer nylons. Some part of him wished to find out if her ankles were as tender as they seem.

A moment later Ressler had his eyes on Nikki's slim-fit pale pink shirt. It was buttoned up at her throat. The shirt was so close-fitting one could catch a glimpse of ripe breasts in a bra.

Bones would twist his cock in a knot for such indecency. Or worse.

 _Man, you need a girlfriend._

Unfortunately, this job wasn't relationship-friendly. You were a lucky fella, if you hit the bottle on your day off. But getting a girlfriend… To be honest, he wasn't in the mood for any long-term commitment lately.

Nikki was almost ready to go into one hot tirade about how sick she was from all this.

But she couldn't.

She was preoccupied with Ressler. He glued his eyes to her, wolfing her down like some steak from _The Capital Grille!_

 _Dear God, is such eye stripping even legal?_

Suddenly her knees refused to abide by gravity laws. Luckily, there was a desk to lean against.

It felt like enormous mutant butterflies spread their wings in her stomach and below.

To Nikki's surprise, she didn't dare to put Ressler in his place. Quite the contrary—her body reminded her a thing. For the past half a year it had been only getting extra thirty minutes in the shower before bed. So much for stress-relieving.

The man to satisfy a ton of extremely compelling demands was a pain to find. And she cared for herself too much to get laid by just anybody.

Nikki made a brief assessment of the subject in front of her. Like all Quantico grads, he didn't cut a day in the gym. There was no need for him to show off his biceps muscles since one could clearly spot them through his black tailored jacket. Something told her that below the shoulders everything was right too.

Most of the time Ressler was nothing but a pain in her ass. However, as a man he wasn't that bad. Quite a pretty face, actually. _Most probably, not just the face…_

On one hand, if he weren't such a sass, they could have…

 _Hell no._ If journos sniffed barely a whiff of the affair, both hers and his careers would go down the drain quicker than she come.

On the other hand, Ressler was many things, but he definitely wasn't a loudmouth.

Nikki gracefully sat on the desk. Crossing her legs, she gave Ressler an innocently confused look.

Finally, Donald rose up from the floor and returned Nikki the file.

It looked like no one was going to twist and turn his manhood— _And why is that?_ —but the sudden change in her raised a lot of suspicions.

 _Could she?.. No, no way._

Ressler was used to her stepping on his toes whenever they would meet.

 _Bones? A crush? On him?_

He would rather believe in UFOs over Washington.

"Thank you, Donald."

Nikki didn't sound like her usual sharp self. Her voice shifted into honeyed sweetness, caressing every inch of his being. Ressler didn't register her calling him "Donald" for the first time they had been working together.

Now he was trapped by a very weird sensation. It seemed like a fluffy and extremely friendly feline had jumped into his lap, tickling him with fur.

 _'That bad, huh? Getting off on kittens, ew.'_

 _'Fuck you.'_

Meanwhile Nikki put the file away, deliberately stretching herself. A moment later she was back into her usual position, and— _Damn!_ —crossed her legs again. Sharon Stone could have been proud.

Right now Ressler wanted nothing but to loosen his tie.

Or not.

 _Rip those tiny teasing buttons off her shirt... Fuck her. Hard. On that desk._

A switch flipped in his mind: the blood rushed through his veins drumming a wild beat all over his body. It thundered in the temples, making it barely possible to focus.

He prayed to all gods Bones hadn't seen his boner.

But the gods didn't give a shit about him.

Nikki curved her lips in a foxy smile. Their saturated dark shade resembled a juicy cherry, just picked from the tree.

Probably, he was overreacting.

 _Is it one of her games?_

They had been working together for a long time. Just enough to get one thing.

You should always watch your step with Nikki Bones. She would swallow you down and wouldn't even choke on you.

 _Bad idea. Very, very bad idea..._

"You gonna just stand there, or we gonna do it?"

Donald had barely slipped "do what", but stopped at the last minute.

Watching Ressler, Nikki had almost rolled her eyes.

 _What an idiot._

She had to take matters into her own hands if she wanted to get home by seven. Or seven thirty. She wouldnt hope for more.

Nikki casually walked to the office door. She looked out to see if the hall was empty. It indeed was. Not even a janitor.

The lock clicked as she closed the door behind her, facing Donald.

"You know, Ressler, you surprise me sometimes."

Her voice resembled a soft purr of the feline who had just had her lunch. Giving him another smile, Bones clicked her heels to the window.

Nikki could almost hear his brain rattling, doing, at least, an extremely difficult risk assessment.

 _For real? How'd he graduated?_

Anyways, his IQ was not her concern.

 _Definitely not a cherry-boy. Why so tight then?_

Ressler absentmindedly buttoned his white shirt's left cuff again and snugged the collar.

"Really? How come?" he wondered, nervously fixing his tie.

Nikki didn't answer. She was busy closing countless blinds on the windows of her spacious office.

Of course, one could refer to _Section 7, Item 10:_

" ** _You are not to, at any circumstances, have a close relationship or sexual intercourse with your colleague."_**

And you certainly shouldn't risk your neck doing it with the lead prosecutor on the case.

Something was telling Ressler that if Nikki had the chance, she would have thrown this case to someone else. Maybe, a half green lawschool grad, who would do all the dirty work.

Apparently, her boss was pretty much the same dick as his own.

Right at this moment Nikki was struggling with the last blind, the left from the door, muttering something inaudible to herself. She was almost on her toes.

When she reached for the cord again, her skirt went up a few inches. Just enough for inappropriate thoughts. This time Nikki didn't adjust it like she had done it before.

 _Face it: you want her._

If he read the signs correctly, the feeling was mutual.

Nikki, finally done with the blinds, turned to him.

"It's just a hook up, Ressler. Not rocket science."

He tuned out the cheap shot.

Bones hadn't been the first one. And she definitely wouldn't be the last one.

Maybe, this was one of her kicks.

 _Well, whatever blows your skirt up._

"Just a hook up?" Ressler mimed Nikki's casual tone. He drew closer to her, his jacket slightly brushing her shirt. "I can't remember doing it at the Attorney General's office."

Not waiting for her invitation, Donald pressed Nikki against the door. Their eyes met—hers, a dark roasted coffee, and his—a rich green tobacco.

Ressler barely brushed Nikki's lips with his, as she grabbed him below the belt. He unconsciously gasped when she squeezed him.

It wasn't painful. Rather, unexpected. Or maybe, most of the time there was a lot of decent women on his way.

Donald had no doubts Nikki Bones was the vicious woman every mother would protect her son from.

However, under the current circumstances, it was an advantage.

Nikki vigorously pulled Ressler close, her nails scratching the back of his head, almost clawing into the skin. She slid her hand to his groin again. Grazing his lower lip with her teeth, she kept on stroking his boner.

Her lips were awfully close. Close enough for a kiss, but Bones didn't let him. She took her time teasing him. He could feel her breath on his cheek. On his neck. On his earlobe. On his lips.

 _Vultures play with their food first._

Sunday school hadn't prepared him for anything like that.

Donald couldn't shake off the sneaking suspicion Nikki had her own agenda.

 _You think I'm gonna beg? You wish._

In the next moment Nikki impatiently forced her tongue between his lips. She kissed him hard, like her life depended on it, almost sucking the oxygen out of his lungs.

Tired of being benched, Ressler tried again to take the lead.

He couldn't—whenever he pulled up her skirt, Nikki would slap his hand. It hurt a bit, but Donald didn't have the time to process it—Bones would slam her lips into his. Her lipstick smeared, tasting like sour chocolate.

It was rough.

Their bodies wrestled in dominating: either of them got pressed up against the door over and over.

Nikki took, but didn't give in return.

"Bones…" Ressler hissed hoarsely, not recognizing his own voice.

"You're giving up, boy scout?" Nikki whispered, softly biting his earlobe.

 _Not that tough, huh?_

Sucking Ressler's neck in a vampire-like manner, Nikki fought the desire to give him a hickey or two.

She knew all these dominatrix tendencies both at work and in bed were not okay. Regular folks didn't get off on any of the kinky shit she usually did… Well, truth be told, she was hardly a definition of normal.

Nikki kissed Ressler again. This time she was slow, less aggressive. It felt like taking a sip of the finest Tuscany wine. There was a lot for her to savor: Ressler's lips, full and lithe, gave into the tiniest change of pace.

Donald couldn't help but notice Bones' fervor lessened. Now her kisses were delicate, almost like any other ordinary woman he had before. He didn't get to think it over—Nikki's hand slid to his groin again. This time she squeezed and then rubbed him, not even breaking the kiss.

"Bones, if you like him, I can take my pants off."

She didn't answer, but her left hand lurked around his waist under his jacket.

Something softly clicked.

 _God, no._

"Nikki…" Ressler slipped, but it was too late.

Bones smirked at him, toying with handcuffs.

Ressler unhooked his gun holster, and double-checked if the safety was on. He threw it on the closest of two enormous armchairs in front of Nikki's desk. Just in case. Russian roulette wasn't his cup of tea. Not today. And definitely not with Nikki Bones.

Nikki, laughing at Ressler's fruitless attempts to snatch the handcuffs back, slipped from his grip. Making sure Ressler watched her, she unzipped her skirt, smoothly stripping it down. The nylons went down a bit quicker. Her fingers went up, unbuttoning the shirt. At last, she brushed aside the clothes with her heel.

Everything screamed to get her laid, but Ressler just stood there, hypnotized. It wasn't like he hadn't seen a woman's strip for him before. He had. And not once. And not only in the strip club. Most women did that to entertain a man. To tease, yes; although they would let their man to call the shots later anyway.

Surely, Nikki Bones wasn't your average woman. And somehow Ressler knew—she did that to entertain no one but herself.

The message was crystal clear:

 _'You don't get anything unless I let you.'_

Meanwhile Nikki caressed herself. A sly smile was on her face again, when she was rubbing up her thigh. A second later her fingers snaked to her panties.

She teased him, but hadn't taken anything off.

Donald's heart pounded somewhere in his throat when Nikki, done driving him crazy, took her heels off and jumped on the desk.

She crossed her legs again.

"The loser wears them, deal?" Nikki was eyeing him like a sniper would stare at his mark.

 _Handcuffs or Nikki?_

That was a Shakespeare-like dilemma for him now.

"Nah, that won't do." Nikki jumped down from the desk. Hiding the handcuffs out of sight, she pulled Ressler closer by the tie.

Bones was stripping the clothes quick and smooth: the jacket was ripped off from him and thrown away; it took her less than a minute to cope with the buttons on his shirt. Finally, the belt's buckle clacked, and she forced him out of his pants.

"Much better now. One shot, boy scout."

Nikki, sitting on the desk again, cocked her head. Swinging the handcuffs, she smirked at him.

Sadly for Donald, he hated losing. Arguments, warm-up drills in the gym, football training in college… You name it.

His handcuffs, now on Bones' right hand's index finger, dangled with a soft metallic sound.

It was so circus-like.

Unfortunately, right now Nikki cracked the whip, not him.

It occurred to him Bones must have had sadism as her major: she unhooked her bra from the front. It happened so fast—Ressler had barely blinked. Now she was fondling her breasts, her thighs spread.

Donald felt like a pet whose treat was close enough to see, but not close enough to take a bite.

He made a desperate lunge for the handcuffs.

"You sure you're FBI?" Bones wrapped her arms around him. The unpleasant metallic iciness tickled his neck.

Nikki gracefully slid down from the desk. She almost coiled Ressler in a snake-like manner, rubbing her breasts against his chest. Her nails were scraping his shoulderblades.

The handcuffs went down his spine, sending the uncomfortable chill across his back.

"You lost, boy scout."

Bones didn't even loosened her grip—in an instant she locked his wrists together behind his back.

 _Click!_

Ressler jerked, but Nikki was faster. Her hand slid into his boxer briefs.

"Don't."

He winced—she had his balls in a death grip.

Stripping them both off the rest of the underwear, Nikki pushed him into the closest armchair.

Donald was almost sore with need, when Nikki's stomach accidentally brushed his hard-on. She didn't pay attention to that, getting comfortable in his lap.

"You'd better…hurry," Ressler growled when Nikki was slowly stroking his chest. Tenderly. Lightly. Almost lovingly. But he knew better.

Pleasure was always followed by pain—he had learned that already with Nikki. It was sick, yet somehow satisfying.

He must be a masochist.

Donald's mind hung up sending "SOS" to his brain, and his pride hid somewhere dark, anticipating Nikki's next move. He was getting high on this game of hers—the sex was rather a bonus. BDSM wasn't exactly his kick, so he had no idea where it came from.

Nikki playfully bit his nipple, sucking on it. Wrapping her fingers around his cock, she slowly worked her way up and down, keeping eyes on Ressler. She went on like that for a few minutes as if testing his resistance. The pace changed, and Ressler, almost losing it, whimpered like a kid who lost his favorite toy.

She gave him a break. It looked like he needed it—cheeks reddened; breath—heavy. His hair was now tousled like a stray ginger cat's fur. Nikki ran her fingers through it, tugging on it hard, until she heard the angry growl. Her hand slid down to his refined neck, its firmness reminding her of Roman sculptures at _The National Gallery of Art._

There was one thing Nikki was thrilled to try. Sadly, it was almost impossible to talk any man into it. As a matter of fact, Ressler didn't have much of a choice here, anyway.

Nikki kept caressing Donald, scratching under his chin as if he was her pet. Just as she sunk her teeth into his Adam's apple, a thought flashed in her mind.

 _Condoms._

She had no doubt Ressler was prepared for any surprise. Tugging on his hair again, Nikki gracefully slid from his lap.

 _Where's this damn jacket?_

"Left side, inside pocket," Donald said in a raspy voice. He hadn't caught his breath yet. Boston Marathon was a child's play comparing with all those things Bones had been doing to him.

"Glad to see your brain's still on, Agent Ressler." Nikki was back in his lap, a condom in her hand.

Ressler glanced suspiciously at her long nails and the flimsy wrapper. Fatherhood wasn't his intention for, at least, next five years. And Nikki Bones as a mother hen… Hell, just a thought of it could make a dick limp.

"Sure you can handle it?"

Not giving him a courtesy of reply, Nikki opened the wrapper, the condom dropping out on her palm. She rolled it on Ressler's hard-on in one smooth motion.

Donald caught his breath, when Nikki saddled him. She wasn't the first to be on top of him. But surely—the first one who had been perfectly still.

She literally did nothing.

Just as Ressler tried to mouth a snarky response, he felt the tight, almost suffocating grip on his cock. Nikki didn't move an inch, yet she was getting him off. Her face was filled with sheer lust—having him helpless and handcuffed must have done the trick.

Ressler leaned back in the armchair. His arms, wrists, and hands grew painfully numb. The numbness mixed with pleasure in an odd, perversive manner, whilst Nikki tortured him, slowly swaying forward and back.

He was completely under, not giving a flying fuck about anything at this moment.

Her rhythm wasn't steady. Sometimes it was slow—Nikki would arch her back, going up and down on him. She occasionally rubbed her clit, moaning softly, almost shyly. At times like these she didn't look like her usual arrogant self.

Soon enough her pace changed. Bones was roughly grinding onto Ressler, clawing her fingers into his shoulders. She couldn't help herself, but left a few visible marks on them. Her high-pitched cry echoed across the emptied office.

Through the blurred world, framed with their bodies' heat, Ressler sometimes got a kiss or two from Nikki.

Or, rather, Nikki let him touch her, leaning towards him. She would wrap her arms around him, pressing his head to her chest. Her braid was messy, its strands tickling his cheeks.

The rich vanilla scent was all over her skin—Donald felt its bitter sweetness on his tongue. Not sure he would have the chance later, he flicked his tongue between her breasts. If Nikki wanted more, she pulled him by his hair and guided his lips to her nipples.

"Come…earlier…you're…dead."

Nikki's voice hissed somewhere above Ressler's temple. She was riding him in such a barbaric manner, the boy scout could hardly breathe out.

 _So good._

 _Dear God, it felt so fucking good._

Now and then she might have let a guy be in charge. But tonight...The absolute possession—that what got her off. The sex… Not so important.

No, it's obvious Ressler had had someone. Maybe, a few, even. But now, at this very moment, she owned him. This got her so high no dope could match it.

 _Hers. And no one else's._

Control was her aphrodisiac.

Bones felt Ressler was closer to the release than her. At once she locked her fingers around his neck.

Donald opened his eyes wide, his body jerking, as he hungrily gasped for air.

At this moment Nikki cried out, freeing Ressler's neck from her grip. She pressed him to herself, wrapping her arms around him.

She was admiring the view: Ressler's hair was soaking wet, a few drops of sweat dripped down his temples. The look on his face was hilariously amusing—half shocked, half doped from the aftermath.

Thanks to her it was perfect timing.

Nikki kissed Ressler. The kiss was far more tender and delicate than she meant to. Anyway, he earned it.

"Stellar job, boy scout."

"Stop calling me like that, Bones," Ressler muttered, trying to move his stiffened wrists.

Bones tugged on his hair once again, petting him like a cat, and then gracefully slid from him. She took the condom off him, tying a firm not at the end, and left him for a moment.

How she managed to do it with those nails was a mystery to Ressler.

Stretching his neck, Donald noticed a couple of red marks on his chest. He would be lucky if she didn't give him a hickey. Right now he wished nothing more but to take the fucking handcuffs off his wrists.

"Need a hand in here," Donald said watching Bones. She was half through with putting on her nylons, not even bothering to look at him.

Finally, Nikki raised her eyes on Ressler.

 _Ah, the work of art._

Each muscle in his athletic body was deliciously tensed as he tried to get out of the handcuffs.

 _He should put those on more often._

If she could, she would lock him in her trunk and take home with her.

 _Sentiments are a nasty bitch, huh?_

Nikki threw at Ressler his jacket and pants.

"You kidding, right?"

"Use your mouth. You're pretty good at it."

 _"Find the fucking key!"_

Nikki zipped her skirt.

"The magic word."

"Nikki!.."

She did her hair and then adjusted her shirt.

 _"A word, Donald."_

"Please!.."

Nikki approached Ressler. She almost licked her lips at the sight of him. Handcuffing a guy like that...

 _It was definitely worth it._

Bones was thoroughly going through the pile of clothes in his lap, smirking at his helplessness.

Once she quit searching, her smirk faded.

"It's gone," Nikki said, looking baffled.

"Gone?!"

Hiding another foxy smile, she clicked her heels to her own desk.

Today was the boy scout's lucky day: she always kept a spare key.

 _Just in case._


End file.
